Savages
by LolaStark
Summary: Her father's crimes bring Fallon Magnar of Skagos to Winterfell as Ned's ward but the stereotypes and misconceptions of her home challenge her new life as she attempts to forget her past and embrace her future. Robb fights to embrace his duty, but when war erupts in Westeros, can he fight both his head and his heart? RobbxOC (Rewrite)
1. Chapter 1

**SAVAGES**

 **by LolaStark**

 **Author's Note:** Whether this is your first time checking out one of my stories or your here to see how I could possibly make this rewrite any different than the last, I hope you enjoy. That being said, this _is_ a rewrite of my very first story which had a lot of potential and I am re-exploring the characters I created and hopefully doing them a little more justice than the cheap versions I presented before. Please feel free to review at the end if it strikes your fancy. Many thanks to those who inspired me to write this!

 **Disclaimer** : I do not own any characters or plotlines from George R. R. Martin's _A Song of Ice and Fire_. I only seek to write purely out of my own entertainment.

* * *

 **CHAPTER ONE**

 **FALLON**

The skies above did not open up that day. They hung low in the sky over the hills and through the forest that sung songs of the Northern wind. A low mist carried them through the moors and alongside the caravan of travelers on the road west. Ravens dared not fly in such solemn weather and instead waited, perched high above the clouds and in the bare branches of tallest trees. Only the short sounds of their occasional chatter could be heard alongside the sounds of the horses' hooves shuffling through the mud at a steady pace.

The winds of winter were nearly upon them. There was a dreariness to the North, she'd known all her life. She was no stranger to the bleakness of the grey clouds nor the eirie whistling of winds over the moors. But this was the mainland. She was not used to being so landlocked, so far from such simple access to the Shivering Sea. Her cloak was pulled around her shoulders but it hung loosely as she let the breeze pass through. Her long dark hair was blowing wildly in the wind that tinted her cheeks a pale shade of pink. Her hair was dampened by the misty winds, and strands clung to her flesh.

It seemed like ages since anyone in her caravan had even glanced at her, and even longer since they spoke. The ones who did only gave her sideways glances of forbearing and pity. These were her father's men, men she had fought alongside on the battlefield, men that now served her eldest brother Broden. The Lord's seat at Kingshouse was once occupied by her father, Drystan Magnar. Now, as she was sat upon her mare, she wondered after the man who had been sent to the Wall to join the Black, relinquishing all ties to his titles, his lands, and his family.

And as further punishment for her father's crimes, crimes that were still vague and unclear, she was torn from her homeland and sent to live as a ward in a stranger's home. It was a sacrifice she was willing to make to spare her youngest brother, Corran, whose fear had been apparent despite his steadfast composure. She, however, would not show the fear she felt welling up inside, the fear that she had now buried deep within her. These men, who had watched her grow from a babe to the young woman she was now, would not respect such weakness. A daughter of Skagos did not show fear.

The Nighean was brave.

There were far worse things to fear than living on the mainland, she reminded herself. Savage tribes ran wild on the island, stemming from the northern island of Skane, still untamed and still full of wild hellions who were the burden on their society. It took the discipline her father had instilled in his warriors to keep the land safe. On Skagos, she had faced worse than the Northmen.

Aedan, one of her father's most trusted men, rode on her right. He was younger than most of her father's council but had proven himself several times over in the battlefield against their enemies and the savages of the mountain tribes. He was handsome, his hair auburn and his face somewhat bare which made the corner of her mouth twitch slightly. He would never have a large beard like his father, Old Bard Friel. Aedan may have been one of the most brave of the Skagosi warriors, but he struggled to grow his beard, the masculine symbol of a true Skagosi man. Bard however, who had a full red beard, was a round, stout man with the strength of an ox. He reminded her of a large fiery bear and therefore, as a child, she had called him "Beardy" because of his beard's vastness.

Aedan was dear to hear, dearer than perhaps she could ever allow herself to admit. But it was true that she longed for his touch and his eyes which lingered on her even now to meet her own. But she thought perhaps she could not bear it if they did. So, she kept her eyes forward, on the horizon of moorland ahead.

His wife would care for him now, she convinced herself. Elsbeth, her older sister, would be by his side in the months and years to come. And Fallon, alone and still unwed, would be sentenced to her life here on the moors under the mercy of the Warden of the North. She would likely never marry, like her sisters. Ned Stark had given his word that he would do his utmost to find a proper match for her when the time suited her. But she knew better than to believe it would ever amount to anything. No Westerosi man would marry a traitor's daughter, let alone one from the island. She knew the stories Northmen told of the Skagosi, of their women.

But she would sacrifice it all now for the sake of her family. For Corran. It had been her choice, to spare her brother from this fate. Corran ought to grow up in Skagos and be a warrior like his brothers. She could not allow him to be subjected to this humiliation, his future in the hands of a stranger.

She shifted, feeling Aedan's golden-colored eyes burning in her direction but she didn't dare look at him in case he might see the fear in her own. She did not know what to expect for her future at Winterfell. Perhaps the old lord wouldn't be as harsh as she'd imagined. All she knew of Lord Eddard was what she'd heard from her brothers and despite their distaste for the man, he had still spared their father's life.

Not many Skagosi men had good things to say about the Warden of the North. The man was a Stark, the very bloodline who had stripped Skagos of its rightful throne. It was the Starks who had reduced the Magnar name to such low status. Northerners and Skagosi were not the same and yet they both were one, the collective "North" that was ruled under one king. Robert Baratheon.

Instead of looking to Aedan for comfort he wasn't free to give, she glanced to her left where his sister, Enat, was riding with her back straight and upright, with her hair hidden beneath a dark green cloth. Her hair was as bright as fire, a Friel trait. Enat was a handsome woman, who had always drawn the attention of men wherever she went. Even Fallon's elder brother Rowan had sung songs of her beauty. Northmen spoke often of the deformity and ugliness that was a Skagosi woman. But the fact remained, Magnar women were known throughout Skagos for making men fall to their knees. Fallon, did not have the Magnar looks, the fine lips and cheekbones that the Skagosi warriors were drawn to. She inherited none of her father's features, only a few traits from her mother, a beauty with dark hair and a cold smile. It had never mattered much to her, however. Her duty did not rely on beauty. Men did not admire her because of her cheekbones or her smile. The Skagosi warriors admired her because she was one of them. Because she was the Nighean, a fate that had been her greatest honor to receive.

Fallon was the youngest daughter of House Magnar. Only Corran was younger, still a child to Fallon at only three and ten years passed his first name day. She fought back images of his face when she left him at the docks, waving after her mournfully. She had not allowed him to see her cry then and she would not allow her men to see her cry now.

Broden, her eldest surviving brother, was back at Kingshouse, their family's seat on the island off the coast of mainland Westeros. He was Lord Magnar now, a title that was never meant to be his, a title he that was now his burden. He would stay to protect their lands. It had been Rowan, however, who had insisted he would escort his youngest sister across the great landmass of the North to her new home. Rowan, who was only one year her senior at eight and ten, had always been her closest sibling. Even the thought of being parted from him was still too much to bear.

She could see his dark hair up at the front of the caravan. He was strong, like Aedan, but with a passion and joy for life that he and Fallon had once shared. The two men had bonded over their success on the battlefield as well as off. She had yet to see his face since they departed the Dreadfort, and found herself willing him to look in her direction. He did not and she thought perhaps that maybe the pain of her absence would be just as difficult for him as well.

It had been the Dreadfort that had instilled such fear deep inside of her as they rode. She had never met a Bolton until now and gods willing she'd never meet another. Northmen called the Skagosi savage. But Fallon was sure she had never met a man more savage than Roose Bolton. At the Dreadfort she could hardly sleep as she tried to tune out the screams of men being tortured in the dungeons. She was used to such things, horrors more terrifying than anything Lord Bolton could conjure deep within his cellars.

But there was a difference between the savages of her homeland and the savagery of proclaimed civilized men here in the North. She only hoped House Stark upheld more upstanding morals. House Magnar may have been old fashioned in their customs, but they weren't barbarians.

Barbarians were the men who wiped through their villages in the night, stealing Skagosi women and ripping out the hearts of their men with little else than their bare hands. Savages were the ruffians of the clans who dated back to the purge of Skane, the northernmost isle of Skagos where the bloodiest of battles had been fought to free the people of their fear. She knew these kinds of savages. But what worried her, was not the men who were openly brutal but the refined nobles of the North who seemed savages of a whole different kind.

Far in the distance she could see the sun hanging low in the sky as it fell into evening. The sun was of course hidden by a large patch of clouds that sunk down towards a structure in the distance. She looked to Enat who nodded slowly, indicating exactly what she had been thinking. The large structure that would now be her home was drawing nearer.

Winterfell.

* * *

 **THEON**

Winterfell was abuzz with anticipation.

It had been three months since they were informed that they would be housing a new ward. He was not the only one who nearly spit out his drink when Lord Stark had told them the ward was of House Magnar on Skagos.

Many of Winterfell's inhabitants couldn't decide if they were uncomfortable or intrigued by this news. It wasn't often that people of the mainland interacted with those from the isle of Skagos. It was close enough to be considered part of the North, but Northerners knew the savages that roamed the steep cliffs and low valleys were not of the same lot as their own.

For Theon, he didn't mind the idea so much. After his tenth name day he had become a ward of Eddard Stark, sent to Winterfell as a hostage for his father's war crimes and rebellion against the Iron Throne. He'd been considered a savage then. Ironborn and unfit to some to walk the halls of the nobility that housed him. Nine years later he found to his surprise that the Stark family treated him well and often more like a son than his own father had.

This new ward would serve as something new for the people of Winterfell to gawk at. No longer would _he_ be the outsider.

No one knew which of Drystan Magnar's children he had sent to be their new ward. He'd overheard a hurried conversation between Lord and Lady Stark about the child in question and that they worried it would not be an appropriate choice. But Ned would not bend on the matter and Theon wondered what kind of person could cause such an uproar.

Theon stood behind the family in the courtyard once the riders had been spotted. It wasn't a formal greeting, but Lord Stark had insisted they pay proper respects to their guests. Lady Stark had prepared a humble feast for the Skagosi who would stay on for the night. Then they'd be ushered back out the way they came and sent off on their way, back to the savage land from whence they came.

One of the guards turned from his position on the gate tower and looked down to Lord Stark, waving his hand. They were nearing the gates, he realized, and straightened his stature. He knew the signal and watched as several other guards reached towards the crank and pulled open the gate. It took nearly six men to raise the gate high above the under the arch.

The riders came in, one by one until all eight of them waited before the Warden of the North with solemn looks upon their faces. Such hard expressions were to be expected. He'd never seen a Skagossan, but he'd heard all the tales of their unpleasantness.

Theon looked to Robb who stood next to his mother, Sansa who stood next to Robb. One day long ago he found himself wishing he could stand at Robb's side, the brother he'd known nearly half of his life. But instead he stood next to Jon, Lord Stark's bastard and the rejected burden of Lady Stark. And soon, this new ward would be at his side as well.

"Lord Stark," Theon heard and looked up to see the young man that had dismounted his horse first. He had dark hair, but eyes were like springtime as he stepped forward, bowing curtly to Ned who waved him to his feet. "I am Rowan, brother to Lord Broden of House Magnar."

Theon furrowed his brow as the young man spoke, his distaste apparent and his lips downturned into a defiant frown. He knelt, just enough that it was of courtesy to his better, and then watched as he stared in confusion at Lord Stark's outstretched arm. Rowan did not take it at first, glancing back at the men behind him who still sat discourteously atop their stallions. He then turned back, pulled his arm from his side and took Lord Stark's with his own, in customary greeting. His sleeve fell back just enough that Theon noticed intricate patterns of faded black against his skin, coupled with scars of some brutal nature.

He frowned too then, wondering if this young man was to be his new peer. He begrudgingly admitted to himself that Rowan was handsome enough to draw positive attention from the women at Winterfell. Theon did not like the idea of more competition. Robb and Jon were difficult enough to contend with, though neither was willing to stoop to Theon's tactics. Theon could have any woman not of noble birth that he chose. But with a face like Rowan's to compete with, perhaps his conquests would be more scarce.

Despite the admiration he'd gain from the female population in the North, Rowan's amiable looks would not erase the damage that his scowl would do with their master.

"Young Lord Magnar, welcome to Winterfell," Ned replied and Theon's eyes scoured the rest of the figures on horseback. He took note of the other five men present, most were older than the young Magnar standing before them. One looked roughly the same age.

They were also accompanied by two women, both looked young from where he stood, but old enough that he felt his interest stir. He was always intrigued by the sight of a pretty woman. Both seemed fair enough. The first had her hair covered by cloth, concealing most of her hair which disappointed him, slightly. The second shared the same scowl as the man standing before Ned Stark, the same narrowing of her eyes. Her hair was partially covered in the hood of her cloak but her hair, raven black, still blew relentlessly beneath it. She sat up straight on her mare, looking away in disinterest as she stared off at the sun falling over the trees.

She did not look back until Rowan walked over to her, standing next to her and gave her a curt nod. Theon could not believe his eyes when the man did not even offer a hand in assistance, and simply stood and waited as she dismounted the beast on her own. She made quick work of it, and Theon's brow rose in mild intrigue as he glanced over her once more. She wore a simple gown, something plain made out of wool. She pulled back her hood, then placed her hands in front of her, looking up at the other girl on the horse once before glancing back at the family.

"And may I present my youngest sister, Fallon," the young man announced through his thick burr, though Theon could not see much resemblance as they stepped closer.

She seemed uncomfortable as she tried her hand at curtsey and failed at a graceful execution. Instead she wobbled once, her cheeks flushed a pretty shade of pink and then stepped back at her brother's side. She was fair enough, he decided. She had no exceptional beauty about her that was likely to lead any of the Stark boys to debase themselves for a Skagg. Theon found her mouth unpleasant and her small frame too short for his liking. Perhaps if she smiled, he thought. But soon enough he discovered Fallon Magnar was not a lady who gave her smiles freely.

"Lady Fallon," Ned replied, taking her hand in his and pressing her small hand to his lips. "We welcome you to our home." Theon noticed the unease in his master's eyes as they met those of Fallon. He paused slightly, recovering quickly when he realized his mistake. As ward, Fallon Magnar was now lady to no house. Her status stripped just as Theon's once was.

"I am grateful to your hospitality," she replied stiffly, her voice carrying over the crowd, her accent not quite as thick as he'd expected.

"May I introduce my family," Lord Stark attempted, clearing his throat as he gave the girl a kind smile. "My wife, Lady Catelyn," he paused long enough that Fallon could make eye contact with each of them. "My eldest son, Robb and my eldest daughter, Sansa. My daughter Arya, and my youngest sons, Brandon and Rickon."

Theon was not sure if it was a mistake, but he thought perhaps Fallon's eyes softened at the sight of the Stark children, particularly the youngest of the five.

"We welcome you, into our home under my protection, as a ward of my household," he announced then and several mutters and whispers could be heard throughout the crowd in some confusion. Even Jon shifted slightly at his side and Robb's brow furrowed.

Theon watched as Lord Stark escorted the young woman inside and tried to fathom how Drystan Magnar would allow his daughter, who was very much a young woman of marriageable age, to be kept hostage in place of one of his sons. Theon realized as they all entered the great hall that Lady Stark was correct to be concerned. Fallon was not a child, or would not be for long. As ward of Lord Stark she could not leave or marry without his expressed permission. She could likely be a hostage all her life if Ned so wished it.

Just like Theon.

* * *

 **ROWAN**

Fallon had never been one for pleasantries. She had no need for them on Skagos. Everywhere she went the people knew who she was. The Nighean of the Magnar was the daughter of Skagos, the daughter of the people. And to each one of them she was treated like family.

Here, Fallon would be treated as an outsider, dealing in curtsies and forced conversation. He could already see the impatience in her tightened lips as they sat through dinner, Rowan sitting directly across from her as she toyed with her food absently.

He was too far away to kick her from under the table but each time he caught her eye he made sure that his disapproval was known. He didn't blame her, in fact, part of him was proud of his sister's stubborn silence. But the other part of him, the part of him that weighed heaviest on his chest, realized that the longer she allowed herself to be taken over by her disdain, the longer she'd suffer.

He had begged their father to take her place, quoting tradition, duty, honor all as his reasons until his father had roared out in frustration. Fallon was precious to them all, his father had said. But it was because of this that she must be given a choice and she had been the first to insist she take Corran's place. As they all knew she would.

Fallon was stubborn and had a temper to rival the savage Bricriu the Bloody of Skane, but no one would ever deny that she was selfless. The Nighean would fight and die for even the lowliest of Skagosi warriors. And Fallon Magnar was born for the role.

The hall was full of men and women housed in Winterfell under Lord Stark's protection. There was folly and drink, enough that even Bard was drunk with the merriment of an endless horn of ale. Rowan was wary of the ale, knowing too much intake would cause his judgement to falter and he would likely find Enat's bed. He would be no help to his sister then.

"Is it true there are unicorns on Skagos?" the boy Stark called Rickon asked and it was the first time he saw his sister's eyes move from the plate in front of her. She looked up in surprise, her eyes softening slightly and Rowan knew it was because the boy reminded her of Corran.

Still Fallon did not speak.

"We have a great number of wild creatures that roam the moors and mountains inland," Rowan answered when she didn't. "Unicorns are a most rare beast, but they travel in herds along the coasts in the winter. Fallon and I kept one as a pet as a child."

"A pet?" the young Lord Brandon asked next, his brow furrowing quizzically. "But don't you ride them into battle? That's what Old Nan says anyways."

Rowan couldn't help but chuckle slightly at the old legend.

"I think a unicorn would be much too small to ride into battle, what do you say Fal?" he asked and his sister sighed.

"Yes, quite small," was all she answered, reluctantly and continued to mutter something incoherent in the Old Tongue under her breath.

"Unicorns are not much larger than your average northern mountain goat, Lord," Rowan answered when Fallon refused. "But when one is spotted alone away from it's herd, it is tradition to raise it at Kingshouse for young boys and girls to train. The last unicorn we raised belonged to my brother Corran. He-" Rowan did not finish the sentence before Fallon stood abruptly, all eyes at the head table shifted to her as she did so.

"If you'll please excuse me," Fallon mustered. Lord Stark nodded, giving leave for Fallon to leave the room. Rowan gave no apologies as he followed quickly after.

He did not catch up with his small sister until they'd reached the outer courtyard and he grabbed hold of her arm, only for her to jerk it away. Her arm free she kept walking as she growled over her shoulder in the Old Tongue, "Leave me alone, Rowan."

"I will be gone soon enough," he replied and watched her steps come to a halt. "Or have you forgotten?"

She was still, contemplating whether or not she would relent and turn towards him as he wanted. She turned only slightly, glancing around at him under the loose strand of hair blown in front of her face. He spotted the frown upon her lips, her downturned mouth covering clenched teeth as she made her way back in front of him.

It was five full strides before he was glancing down at her.

"You know I didn't mean that," she answered him and the stubbornness was replaced by something rarely seen from his sister. Fear.

"I know it is difficult," he whispered, placing his hand on her shoulder and she immediately placed hers over it. "But I promise you, this is not forever."

"Father made the same assurances, but it's a promise neither of you can keep," she said softly. "At least Broden is sensibile," she added. "You want to believe that I'll be away for a year and then Lord Stark will send me on my way in a carriage back to Skagos. I'm here to pay for father's debts, his crimes against the crown." Rowan's eyes fell at her words, understanding the gravity of what she was saying. "That Greyjoy boy has been here for nine years! I don't even know if I'll ever set foot on Skagosi soil again."

"Don't say that," he urged, his voice soft, taking her face in his. "The Starks and Magnars may have their differences, but Ned Stark seems an honorable man."

"How can you say that after what he did to our father?!"

"Stop idolizing him!" Rowan ground out. "You think he is a man separated from men. But he's not." Fallon did not like the words, her eyes dancing as they glistened. "Father made his own choices and he now he faces the consequences. Be good Fal. Be you and Lord Stark will see that the place you are really needed is at home."

She placed her forehead against his, the air cold enough that he could see her breaths as she tried to steady them. She was holding back tears.

"I am scared," she whispered so softly that he thought for a moment he'd imagined it. He pulled her then to his chest, letting her rest against his shoulder.

"I'd call you a fool if you weren't," he answered.

"I don't know how to be anything other than the Nighean," she replied. Rowan sighed, stroking her hair gently.

"You'll learn."

* * *

 **ROBB**

There was chill in the air as morning rose at Winterfell. The sun had yet to rise but slowly peaked out above the horizon, teasing the watchers of the night into delaying their journey still moments longer. The travelers from Skagos had wasted no time in preparing for their journey home. He had perhaps though they might push off their travels for a day or two due to the predicted storms that approached but Rowan insisted that they leave at first light. Storms were not an obstacle worth avoiding, the young man had replied when Robb had presented his warning.

Robb was standing in the courtyard watching them ready their horses. He had always been an early riser and this morning had been no different. His father had left before dawn to set out towards the town for a meeting with the villagers. He never broke commitments even if it meant passing on certain responsibilities to Robb. Winterfell would be his one day, his father told him so many times he'd lost count. Robb didn't mind it, in fact he even enjoyed watching the Skagosi men saddling their horses expertly.

Despite their hard demeanors, he felt the Skagosi seemed as civilized and proud as any Northman he'd ever met. They seemed fearless, something he envied, having always wished to be fearless himself. He had been wrong, he realized, upon meeting them. He'd believed they would be welcoming savages into their home but nothing about them seemed savage. Uncouth perhaps, rough around the edges and clearly holding onto a grudge that was centuries old. But they held themselves to a quiet refinement, even with their darker expressions and indifference to the nobility of such a high house like the Starks.

They each carried rather large swords on their belts. He'd seen tattoos on most of them, even Fallon and Enat from just beneath the cloth of their dresses. They were warriors, he remembered and from what little he gleaned from conversing with Rowan and his friend Aedan, they had been bred for war. And no matter Robb's attempts at warm conversation, it was clear the Skagosi still held their contempt with the Starks as a whole due to Drystan's banishment to The Wall.

The son of Drystan was standing nearest to him, his horse only ten paces away. It was then that Robb noticed a quiet change in demeanor, in the entirety of the group, as they approached Rowan. Of course, once they stepped closer, Robb realized it wasn't Rowan that had caused the softness in their eyes at all. It was Fallon. Her cloak was slipped over her shoulders, a wild fur that was slightly matted and brown. She reached out, taking Rowan's hands in her own as she looked up at him with pleading eyes.

Robb had heard many tales of Skagosi women, none of them told of how he would feel when he looked upon this one, tears falling down her cheeks. She tried to hide them from her brother but the young man only wiped them away with his fingers and pushed the corners of her lips upward into a forced smiled. She then hugged the remaining men one by one, each one of them kneeling at her feet and kissing her hand. It was a peculiar act, as each bowed their heads and let their lips graze over the inside of her wrist.

The last man did the same, approaching Fallon with solemn eyes and he knelt, closer to her as he placed his lips against the inside of her wrist for many moments, then rested his head in anguish against her stomach. Fallon fought tears once again, swallowing forcibly and her lips shook. Her fingers brushed once through his hair and she placed her hand under his chin, forcing him to rise with her gentle touch. When he stood, he placed his lips on her forehead. It was an intimate gesture, one Robb had rarely witnessed except in his own parents. His lips lingered several moments before he finally backed away and Robb felt as though he had just intruded on a private moment.

Rowan held her last, engulfing her in a hug that lifted her from the ground. Her arms were wrapped around his neck until she was placed firmly upon the ground and he kissed her mouth once in brotherly manner before mounting his steed. She placed her hand delicately on the horse's snout, stroking the black hair before placing her hand at her side.

She spoke with the corners of her mouth upturned though they quivered. Robb could see that it was a smile out of sadness rather than any semblance of joy. Her words were hushed, but even if she had shouted them, he would not have known their meaning. Robb knew the familiar coarseness of the Old Tongue. He had only heard it used a handful of times in his life but it was distinguishable from the traditional Northern burr.

Her brother replied and though Robb could not understand the words they spoke, their voices cracking as they said them, he knew that this was their goodbye. Perhaps there was more to it, some deeper meaning to the Old Tongue words they'd uttered, but regardless, they said goodbye in a way that stung somewhere within him.

Rowan squeezed Fallon's hand and then let it fall as he shouted orders, again in his home tongue, to his men. Her eyes followed after them, walking at a hurried pace until she was at the gate and she placed her hand on the stone columns as they rode off through the mud, leaving her hem several inches of soiled with it.

It was only once they were through the gates and out of sight that she turned away from the whispers of Winterfell's soldiers who watched her closely, inspecting her reaction and undoubtedly belittling her with their smirks. He could have sworn he heard one of them mutter 'Skagg," under their breath. He'd heard the term all his life, but was forbidden from using it. It was a nasty term for people of Skagos, his mother had explained. Never again had he used it but it wasn't until now that he had understood his mother's meaning when she'd dubbed the term " _nasty._ "

She walked quickly in his direction, away from the stares and hurtful words, but her eyes did not meet his, not even as their paths intersected. He was not sure what made him reach out to her, placing his hand on her arm lightly as she then came to an abrupt halt. His hand rested carefully around her elbow and though the touch was gentle, one might have thought Robb had struck her the way she flinched. She stood there, unmoving, unyielding to his look of concern. Her eyes were focused on the walls behind him and nothing else.

"You are safe here," he whispered to her and watched her eyes stagger for only a moment before they sought out the ground. "No one will hurt you."

Her eyes traveled up from the ground and connected with his. It was the first time he'd seen her look at him and Robb realized for the first time that her eyes had something wild within them. Not savage, no, he thought. She was wild and the look she gave told him she would not be tamed.

She looked at him for a long moment, their eyes locked and something pulsing through his fingertips as they wrapped around her elbow. But no words passed between them as she then jerked her arm from his grasp.

And then she was gone.

Robb had never had such an negative interaction with a woman before. In fact, most women were very kind to the heir of Winterfell. He was accustomed to kindness having been raised by a kind woman with a warm heart. Fallon too seemed kind and warm when she spoke to her men and to her brother. He wasn't expecting to be on the receiving end of such harshness directed at him.

But to her, he reminded himself, he was a stranger. And he if the roles had been reversed, and he were thrown into a world unlike his own, he wasn't sure that his reaction would have been altogether so pleasant either.

A/N: Last thing and I'll shut up and let you get to that reviewing thing (you know you want to). You may not notice too many differences from the first chapter because I felt like not much from the original chapter one had to go. But some major changes will be made with this story. Some characters will be erased from this version as well. So stay tuned and let me know what you're thinking. xoLola


	2. Chapter 2

**SAVAGES**

 **by LolaStark**

* * *

 **CHAPTER TWO**

 **FALLON**

The clanging of swords was unbearable.

She had been awake for hours, sitting in the corner of her room by the window which looked out towards the great hall and the sept that sat in the middle of the small winter garden. But unseen, somewhere out in the great courtyard she could hear the men training, the boys sparring and learning how to fight.

And it was unnerving, the sounds of weaponry. As if she were home when she wasn't. As if she could somehow wake up from this hell she had been trapped in for the last few weeks. But still every morning she awoke and realized that Winterfell still claimed her and she was a prisoner to her own disdain.

In truth, it didn't matter that it was Winterfell. It could have been anywhere and she still would have hated it with the same amount of passion that she felt for this place she'd been caged. Enat reminded her that the Starks were kinder than any masters they could have hoped for but it did not extinguish Fallon's initial hatred.

Ned Stark was a kind man, a good lord and a good father to his children. She tried not to dwell on the memory of her father being hauled off irons by men who claimed to be doing Ned Stark's bidding. She knew it was the King's orders. But living with the man who had delivered the King's command made it all the more difficult to stomach.

What was more, she was relegated to lady's work, under the watchful eye of Septa Mordane who was more than willing to point out Fallon's lack of feminine upbringing in her Skagosi household. Enat found the woman's praises at her stitching and elegance in dance, whilst Fallon was given a purse lip of disapproval.

Fallon did not have time for sewing dresses or stitching handkerchiefs in Skagos. Her position was that of duty to her lord father and the men under his command. But no one knew that here aside from Enat. At Winterfell she was a girl with poor training that was assumed to be because of her laziness and lack of patience.

Only one of those traits had been attributed to Fallon in her seven and ten years and never once had she been called _lazy_.

"You know that Septa woman will give you hell if you stay up here all day," she heard from the door, turning to see Enat plaiting her hair gently, carrying one of Fallon's gowns over her shoulder.

"I had hoped I could feign some sort of illness that would allow me to miss her lessons," Fallon groaned. "I don't know that I can take another day of stitching. My fingers are bloody from that damned needle."

"Won't work," Enat explained, holding up the dress she'd made for Fallon, a deep Magnar green that made Fallon's stomach sink with yearning for home. "The Lady Arya has tried nearly every excuse to miss lessons as well. But I've been told they never work. At least you both seem to have mastered the same level of skills in embroidery." Fallon pulled off her dressing robes, letting them fall to the ground as Enat helped her into it the simple gown. "And anyways, you should have a bit of a reprieve today since you've already missed most of sewing. I'm told it's dancing lessons in the Great Hall before luncheon."

Fallon felt relief of a sort, knowing she would not be forced to endure hours of disappointment from the Stark's septa. Dancing she could do, liked even, despite the fact that Enat had always been better. But refined skills or no, she could manage and would even rejoice at the idea of not having to go to bed with her fingers bloodied.

Another clang of metal interrupted her elation and her eyes were once again drawn towards the open window, the longingness for a sword in her hands returning as she balled the fabric in her hands. Enat swatted her shoulder.

"Don't do that, I've only just made this one for you," she scolded. "The least you could do is keep it looking decent for a few days before you go mucking it up." Enat hardly soured her face, but when she did Fallon could not hold back a grin. She sometimes wondered if that was the young woman's motivation for it in the first place. "You know, you could just ask Lord Stark if you could train. I'm sure he'd let you if you explain our customs."

"I've already asked Lady Stark and her answer was that no young lady in her household spars with men."

"Well that's hardly fair," Enat mumbled as Fallon had once she'd been delivered the blow.

"She said if I must, I can practice archery and horseback riding with Arya, but swords and spears are to be left to the boys," Fallon added and Enat chuckled.

"I have half a mind to let her catch you with a spear in your hand. Let her see how competent you are compared to those sons of hers," Enat defended proudly. "I've seen those Stark boys spar. They're nothing compared to our men."

"Our _men_ or my brother?" Fallon asked, raising an eyebrow as she finished tying up her ties on her own. Enat's eyes narrowed.

"I wouldn't let that brother of yours fill your head with nonsense," was her response. "He thinks he's far more important to me than he is. You know he had the gall to ask me if I would weep when he left?" she scoffed. "The bloody cad."

"And did you?"

"Not a single tear," admitted Enat and Fallon was surprised that she believed her. "He'll have no trouble finding himself a pretty young maid for his bed the moment he returns."

"Are there any pretty young maidens left on our part of the island?" Fallon teased and Enat let out an unladylike chuckle.

"No thanks to those Magnar men," she replied. "Come now, let us go before that old biddy sends someone to hunt us down."

* * *

 **ROBB**

Starks had been bred to brave the Northern climate, the bleakness that could last weeks, the chill in the air that never seemed to fade no matter the sun's brightness in the sky. If he were a southron, he'd likely spend his days huddled by the fire in his rooms, warmed by the underground hot springs that flowed beneath Winterfell.

But he was a born and bred Northmen and even though the winds of winter would soon be upon them, he could not help but enjoy the chill in the air as if it was a warm summer's day.

He'd been drawn to a sweat from his sparring with Jon in courtyard, attempting to stay away the boredom that came with waiting for their father to return from Karhold. They had planned a hunt for his homecoming, one of Robb's more favored pastimes. He and Jon had promised Bran they would train him so he would be able to show their father he was ready to join them on the three day journey.

The reality was, Bran was still nowhere near ready enough to shoot a stag with his bow. But it would be enough that their father would not deny him the opportunity. Rickon, complained, the boy of only five who was nowhere near ready to join the hunt. Robb had anticipated a long battle with the youngest Stark, but the boy's attitude was soon deterred by a still unknown source and his attentions were drawn elsewhere.

Jon and Robb were laughing as they entered the Great Hall, having been summoned by his mother. He had tried to collect Bran, but was unsuccessful in pulling the boy from chasing Arya around the grounds after she'd embarrassed him during Bran's sparring lesson. He'd give up soon enough, however. Arya was much too fast for him to chase her all day, and eventually he would be on the receiving end of their mother's disapproving glare.

Music interrupted their laughter, as well as a clearing of Septa Mordane's throat from where she stood in the middle of a group of young ladies dancing. Each was interrupted by the distraction their entrance had caused, looking up and missing their steps as they practiced their dance. Only Fallon and Enat remained on pace with the music, not bothering to even glance in their direction.

Robb would be lying if he said it hadn't bothered him that Fallon Magnar was still avoiding him. She had been at Winterfell for nearly a month and still they had spoken a mere few words. His father urged all the Stark children to be kind to their new ward, but Robb had barely had the opportunity. He watched her now, her plaited hair dancing over her shoulder as she skipped in circles, her hand delicately placed against her partner's.

Several times he'd been asked to participate by their Septa, alongside Jon and Theon and any other young men at Winterfell who was tall enough to match the ladies. But Septa knew it only caused a stir with the girls, causing fits of giggles as their attentions were moved from their lessons, to demure flirting with the boys.

"Robb," his mother's voice called from behind him and he pulled his eyes from Fallon and her green ribbon draped prettily over her shoulder.

"Mother," he replied, shaking off his own distraction and giving his attention fully to his mother's hurried glances. "What's the matter?"

"Your father just sent word," she said anxiously and then paused. "Where is Brandon?"

"He wouldn't be slighted his revenge on Arya," Robb answered. "He's still out in the courtyard, I expect."

"Well when we're through here, do find him. Your father asked me to tell you he was delayed at the Dreadfort, won't be back until tomorrow after midday. He said that the hunt should be postponed and he'll need you to meet Lord Glover and his family who will arrive here sometime this evening."

Robb felt his disappointment welling up within him, missing out on the hunt he had been preparing for all week. But his duty was to his lord father and as the heir to Winterfell, he was Lord while his father was away. And so without complaint he nodded his consent.

"Of course," he responded. "We'll have everything ready for their arrival. Will you speak to Vayon or should I?" he asked, regarding their steward. Robb had helped his father prepare for noble visits before, but this was the first time the responsibility had been left solely to him.

"He was there when I received word, so I took the liberty of telling him so he could start preparing the Guest House. I also spoke with Fallon and Enat regarding their rooms there. Enat has been moved into one of quarters in the lower keep while Fallon will be moved to the room attached to the Library Tower."

"The Library Tower?" Robb asked skeptically. "Isn't that room quite small?"

"She quite liked the idea, actually," his mother replied off-handedly. "We don't have much time before the Glovers arrive. I'll speak to cook about recruiting a few extra hands for supper."

Robb sighed as his mother left, hurrying herself out of the hall and out towards the kitchens. He stood with Jon, watching the merriment a few moments longer. It was only as he started to leave that he noticed one of the dancers was missing.

He and Jon parted ways near the Great Keep, Robb towards the armory and Jon towards his chambers. There was a bustle of activity as word spread about Lord Glover's visit, men and women carrying and moving items with haste per the orders of the Lady of Winterfell. Robb had only just passed the Guards Hall when he heard the sound of wooden swords and the labored groans of the young Stark he'd been searching for.

"Hold up your shield," a voice instructed loudly, as Robb rounded the corner, passing through the archway nearest to the crypts.

There he saw Bran, Rickon, Arya and a boy called Martyn from the village holding wooden swords as they sparred under the supervision of Fallon. She stood watching, her arms crossed over her chest and the hem of her green dress buried in the fresh wet mud on the ground as she paced slowly. Robb paused, just out of sight, curious but knowing his intrusion might not be welcomed.

"Very good Rickon," she praised, her accent thicker as her tongue rolled over the r's.

Rickon was small, but he beamed at her compliment, holding his shield up once more as his opponent charged. Nearby Bran and Arya were in a match that Robb could only assume was some sort of plot on Fallon's part to keep Bran from ringing his sister's neck in retaliation for her earlier humiliation. Bran's boots slid in the mud as he held up his shield against Arya's blows.

"Well done Arya, see here," Fallon interrupted, taking a spare wooden sword from the ground and holding it up in fighting stance more refined than Arya's. Rickon stood in front of her, giggling at his chance to be her sparring partner. "You must use your arm here," she pointed. "...to propel the blow further. Your opponent has the shield to guard them but they cannot always rely on it, just as you cannot always rely on metal as your only weapon."

"What do you mean?" Arya asked, lowering her own sword which had previously mirrored Fallon's instruction.

"See here, I use the sword to draw my opponent's shield up," Fallon explained, modeling a slow motion blow towards Rickon who held his shield high above his head to protect him from the hit. Fallon let the wooden sword tap the shield but then lifted her leg and placed her foot gently against Rickon's chest. Robb's brow furrowed. "My opponent has rightly used his shield to defend from a blow from above, but has left his core unprotected. You have the upper hand to, quite frankly, put him on his bum." She said with a small grin, something foreign to Robb's eyes, as she then leaned slightly towards Rickon. "This is where you fall back, little wolf," she whispered rather loudly. Rickon gave his most dramatic fall, rolling in faux agony in the mud.

"Not a very honorable way to fight," Robb shouted out in amusement and all members of the sparring group turned as if they'd just been caught stealing. Fallon's eyes widened. "Don't worry," he assured her. "I don't plan on running to my mother with news that you're sparring with the children."

"You say it's not honorable," she said finally, lifting her eyes to meet his for the first time in days. "How so? Do Northmen fight with their heads or their morals?"

"Preferably both," he answered. Robb reached down to Rickon's forgotten sword on the ground and wiped the mud off of it onto his doublet. "A man who fights without honor cannot be a worthy opponent." At this she scoffed.

"Without honor? Or without sense?" she countered. "You mean to tell me if you have the opportunity in battle to defeat your foe you would choose decorum over the winning blow?"

"I have never been in battle, so I do not know which I would choose," he replied honestly. "But I hope that should I ever be thrust into battle, that I would have the skill to outfight my opponent without need for such tactics."

"Shall we put that to the test, Lord?" she asked, a fire alight in her green eyes that Robb could not ignore.

"Robb's very good," Bran explained. "He has been training since he was Rickon's age."

"Then your brother should have no qualms teaching me a lesson," she retorted, her eyes locking with Robb's and he could see the challenge in them.

She was baiting him, that much was clear. Despite his better judgement, however, he could not resist the the temptation. He raised his wooden sword, in sparring position, and took note once again of her height, small enough that Robb spared a moment of guilt as he thought he may reconsider sparring someone as small as Fallon.

He didn't spare much of a moment though as she initiated the first swing and he narrowly dodged it by pulling up his small, child-size shield to block. He was taken aback by the force of it, the strength in her strike much greater than he'd expected of someone of such a small stature and hindered by a corset. Again she struck, a second, a third and a fourth time in the span of only a few second before Robb could counter with a blow of his own. He was surprised when he missed, she ducked as he pulled his sword across her right side. He didn't even notice until he heard Arya's excited cheer that he had been bested, her wooden sword pointed directly at his heart.

"You're much quicker than I anticipated," he admitted and Fallon could not hold back a pleased grin in the corner of her pink mouth.

"The advantage of my size, I'm told," she teased. "Shall we go again?"

He nodded, preparing himself once again, holding a more defensive stature as they repositioned themselves. Fallon took up the same stance, her feet moving slowly as she led them in a circle, waiting this time for him to make the first move. He obliged, swinging his sword to her right, then left and their swords clammered together as she blocked his third strike and shoved him slightly backwards with her shield against his. He stumbled back only slightly, finding weakness in that while her size allowed her more agility, his allowed him more strength.

So he pushed back.

She seemed to expect this, spinning out of where he pushed her, catching slightly on the hem of her dress as she pulled it up into her shield hand and dealing him another blow. She swung twice towards his torso and Robb blocked it both times, pushing his shield forward to meet the wooden sword. Her arm, came across then, drawing back overhead and Robb pulled his shield up to block it remembering too late what he had just seen her teach the children. It wasn't until he was falling backwards that he realized he had fallen into the trap she had laid for him, the moment she'd enticed him into the spar in the first place.

Robb wasn't sure what made him do what he did next as he fell back in the mud with her sword lowered down towards him but he could not muster the grace to lose so easily as he should have. And so, knowing full well that his father would likely scold him should he witness such unchivalrous behavior, he reached over, grabbing the muddy hem of her dress and slid his leg across her feet so that she was then falling forward, dropping her sword to Robb's left as she fell face first into the mud on his right.

Laughter ensued from the children watching and while he expected a furious scowl from his sparring partner as she rolled over onto her back, he was pleasantly greeted with a look that for the first time in weeks, was laced with something other than contempt.

"So much for your honor, Stark," she teased, wiping the mud from her lips and Robb, who was still on his back as well, let out a hearty laugh. "Are you certain you don't have Skagosi blood in there somewhere?"

* * *

 **** ** **FALLON****

"You just couldn't help yourself, could you?" Enat cackled, amused by Fallon's account of her sparring with Stark heir.

Fallon smirked victoriously as she sat in the bath, wiping off what mud still lingered on her milky flesh whilst Enat sat leisurely on Fallon's bed. Both had been surprised that a bath could even fit in the small room abutting the Library Tower. But the servants made it work, pushing the small writing desk closer to the window in order to make room. No one seemed pleased with Fallon for asking them to haul the heavy basin up so many steps when there was work to do. But Enat's sweet smile had soothed their tempers and Fallon was eventually forgiven by proxy.

She was currently struggling to scrub the mud from her fingernails as she recounted the reason for her appearance in Enat's chambers directly after Robb had lifted her out of the mud, then abandoned her to attend to his duties. Enat had cursed her several times in the Old Tongue for getting the new dress in such a state just before the arrival of noble guests. Fallon was only slightly apologetic, the rest of her reeling impishly.

"I haven't felt so alive in weeks. You can't scold me for that," was her reply and Enat's only response was a tired smile.

"It looks good on you," she said finally and Fallon looked up from where her scrubbing was turning her fingertips raw and red.

"What does?" asked Fallon and Enat shrugged.

"It's just that, I was beginning to wonder if I'd ever see you having fun again. And here you are, grinning from ear to ear. Not even the most experienced Skagosi warriors find much success with such an undertaking."

"Do you enjoy being so insufferable?" Fallon questioned, leaning her hair back into the water and letting it engulf the wild mess it had become.

"I do," Enat answered haughtily. "It is my primary reason for being sent here by your brother."

"Oh?" Fallon provoked. "And here I thought my longtime companion wanted to be here as my friend."

Enat pondered this for only a moment as Fallon ran her fingers through her dark hair.

"I consider them one in the same, actually," she retorted and Fallon let out a small chuckle.

The room was colder than her original chambers in the Guest House but Lady Stark had told her it was because of the hot springs that she felt such a difference. But Fallon didn't mind it, she realized. Kingshouse was not built on such a hot spring and the winters in Skagos were much colder than what she assumed even the Starks had experienced at Winterfell.

But she liked the space, being so close to the Library just a level above her. She liked books, even though her father often told her they were useless. Fallon had devoured every book she could get her hands on, most brought over from mainland Westeros during the travels of her father's small fleet of ships. But Winterfell had more books than Fallon had seen in all her seven and ten years on nearly every topic she could imagine. She was currently scouring the pages of a history of Northern Westeros with all the Northern families listed that she was to be expected to know.

"I received a letter today," Enat announced, breaking the silence and Fallon's eyes darted up to her friend.

"From home?" she asked quickly and Enat nodded.

"Aedan," Enat clarified and the sudden intrigue fell to dread as Fallon felt her eyes fall back towards the muddled water she was engulfed in. "Don't you want to know what he said?"

"Not particularly," Fallon lied, knowing full well she was longing for news of home. But she did not want to hear words that came from Aedan Friel, the man she had already said her goodbyes too in many ways. "I thought you wanted me to be happy here," she added softly, her words cold and Enat sighed.

"You know that is all that I want," argued Enat.

"Then why would ask me about your brother?"

"So you are free to speak of your brother but I am not free to speak of mine?" Her voice rose, matching Fallon's tone and it was a conversation both had been dancing around for months. Fallon crawled out of the bath, pulling a large cloth over her flesh to dry.

"It is not the same thing," Fallon noted, hoping to end the conversation but Enat would not be deterred.

"You refuse to tell me what happened between the two of you, fine, I'll allow you to keep your secrets, but Fallon don't treat me like a fool. I know you love him."

"I don't," Fallon said, then swallowed hard as she gripped at the table, her nails digging painfully against it. "I don't love him, not any more than a brother."

"Lie to me, if you wish…" Enat said with a sigh. "But don't bother lying to yourself."

It was the last she spoke before leaving the room, closing the door with force behind her and Fallon closed her eyes at the loud sound she left behind. Fallon tried desperately to ignore the ache building in chest, waiting to be acknowledged so it could bloom into something more. But she was tired. Tired of allowing those feelings to bury what happiness she once knew back home. Here, she was far enough away that it should no longer matter.

At Winterfell she was not a savage to her own feelings for Aedan Friel.

She sighed, turning finally to the bed where her shift was wrinkled slightly from Enat's hasty departure. She pulled it over her head, realizing she would have to make do on her own as she dressed, slowly and with angst as she realized she would be faced with a new set of strangers that evening.

She'd read about the Glovers, about Lord Galbart who had lost his wife during a small Ironborn invasion near Deepwood Motte. He had yet to remarry, still grief stricken after four long years. His brother, Robett, was his heir and already settled with a wife and two children of his own. Gawen would be about the same age as Broden, while Erenna was closer to Sansa's age.

They were important allies of the Starks, some of their principle bannermen. They also ruled a number of smaller houses that inhabited the wolfswood, not to be confused with the Northern Mountain Clansmen that Fallon found similar to her kinsmen of old.

The sun was waning in the sky and the room darkened as she struggled with plaiting pieces of her own hair. Enat never returned despite her usual insistence on helping Fallon prepare for important occasions such as the Glovers' arrival. Fallon bit the side of her cheek anxiously, straining her eyes in the firelight at her hair.

There was a knock at her door that disrupted her concentration and she groaned out in annoyance as she dropped the hopeless plait to fall in front of her face.

"Yes?" she shouted out, as politely as she could muster and the door opened just a crack to reveal an equally frustrated Arya Stark wearing a dress she'd seen Sansa making earlier that week. "Oh," she said in surprise.

"Can I hide here?" she asked desperately. "Old Nan keeps trying to put ribbons in my hair."

"So long as you don't mind watching me pull my own hair out," Fallon grumbled, pulling a few pieces apart to attempt at a plait once again.

Arya laughed, closing the door behind her and then plopping down on Fallon's bed and watching her with mild interest. Fallon tried not to let the girl's staring intimidate her as she pulled her fingers through her hair anxiously.

"Did your mother make you dress up as well?" Arya asked curiously and Fallon paused her movements, straining to keep her fingers in place.

"My mother didn't much care what I wore so long as I behaved like a lady in front of guests," replied Fallon. "She'd say, ' _the Nighean can wear what she pleases so long as she does not shame the name of House Magnar.'_ "

"The Nigh...ean?" Arya asked and Fallon felt her lips turn up at the girl's mispronunciation. "What is that?"

"The _Nighean_ ," she corrected the girl's inflection, "is who I was before coming to Winterfell. The _Nighean_ is the 'Daughter of Skagos,' a position of great honor to Skagos and House Magnar."

"What does the Nighean do?"

"The Nighean is chosen from the Magnar's daughters. The Magnar and his council select the daughter they believe who will be most worthy of the honor. She is essentially who the Skagosi warriors rally behind, the one who inspires and fights by the side of her men in battle, as the spirit of Skagos itself."

"You're a warrior then? That's how you learned to fight?" Arya asked in awe, her lips curled into a bright grin.

"I was, yes. I trained with my brothers from the time I was a young girl. When I was twelve, my father pronounced me the Nighean and I began training with my father's men," she explained, recalling the ceremony where she'd stood on the great field of Kingshouse and accepted the ring that had once belonged to her aunt, the previous Nighean.

"Have you been to battle?"

"Small battles, yes. Nothing like your books," she assured. "I have fought in battles against the clan uprisings in the North, as well as the Skanish rebels and their fierce leader called Bricriu the Bloody. He only has one eye."

"What happened to the other one?"

"It met the end of my spear," Fallon replied nonchalantly and Arya's eyes widened.

"Bloody hell!" the girl squealed in a mixture of excitement and disgust.

"It was indeed," Fallon teased.

"He must be angry that you took his eye, then?"

"Bricriu is angry about most things," Fallon retorted, realizing then that she'd finally managed a suitable plait and tied her ribbon around it neatly. "Skane follows the old ways, practices we haven't seen on Skagos for hundreds of years. This angers him because he wants to keep the old ways alive."

"What old ways? Like the stories Old Nan tells us? Men eating the hearts of their enemies?" Arya asked and Fallon could not hold back a laugh.

"There are some rituals that involve such things on Skane, yes. When my ancestors, the Magnars of old, knelt to the King in the North, Brandon IX, Skagos had already abolished the practice of cannibalism some fifty years prior. Only Skane still participates in the old ways. My grandfather put an end to the Skanish uprisings and now, so long as we let them to their own ways of life up on their island, they pay fealty to House Magnar."

"But they still rebel?"

"Every so often, men like Bricriu like to show their displeasure with the Magnars. They come to the main island and try to display their strength," she told Arya but then paused. "Of course they also like our women. Those stories you hear about Skagosi women being hideous…" Arya nodded. "Completely false. The Skanes try and raid our lands for women because they can't breed any beauties of their own."

Arya laughed at this, as did Fallon, both picturing hordes of hideous Skanishmen and their brides. For the most part this was true, though the mainland Skagosi liked to embellish the savagery of the people on Skane. It was true they had a more barbaric lifestyle, but for the most part their disagreements were political. Bricriu was considered the chieftain, a king to his men by all rights, and there was turmoil amongst the other clans on Skane for his position. Raids and skirmishes on the northern coasts of Skagos were what kept the Skagosi warriors occupied, trying to keep their own clans from uprising in retaliation.

Fallon really had been to battle, so many times now that she could hardly remember a time when she'd been as idle and insignificant as she was here at Winterfell. It was easy to feel important when she spent every day being told so by warriors she called her own. Now she was hundreds of miles away and they fought without her, keeping the peace amongst the unrest in the mountain regions. And she sat at Winterfell plaiting her hair, banned from even touching a spear.

"You're good for your age, at sparring," Fallon told the girl who looked up with bright eyes.

"You mean for my sex?" Arya mumbled, her eyes falling in disappointment.

"Not at all," countered Fallon. "You haven't had the same advantages as I was allowed as a girl. But even so you have learned a great deal. One day, gods willing, you might even be a warrior."

"Like you?" Arya asked hopefully and Fallon felt a warmth in her heart.

"Perhaps better."

A knock on the door disrupted the pleasant smiles that passed between Arya and Fallon then. She voiced her consent and in the doorframe appeared Jon Snow, the boy with the raven black hair and solemn eyes. But they lit up at the sight of his younger sister.

"Your mother has been looking for you everywhere," Jon teased, his faux scold causing Arya to sour her face in annoyance.

"I told Old Nan I wouldn't wear the ribbons," the girl insisted and Jon let out a small laugh.

"I don't think she'll have much time to catch you if she tried," he explained. "The Glover party is arriving shortly. She wants you there to welcome them."

"What about Fallon?" Arya insisted. Fallon noticed as Jon shifted uncomfortably.

"She and I will meet the Glovers at the feast, should your Lady Mother will it," Jon spoke, his eyes falling with his smile. His eyes darted briefly from Fallon and back to Arya as the words left his lips. "Come now, to the courtyard with the others."

Disgruntled and reluctant, Arya removed herself from Fallon's bed, dragging her feet and the hem of her dress across the floors as she left the room. She looked back once, stopping in the doorway by Jon as she caught Fallon's gaze.

"Will you sit with me at the feast?" she asked and Fallon attempted her best comforting smile.

"It is not my place to sit with the family on such an occasion, Lady," she answered and Arya frowned.

"Don't call me that," Arya sounded, discomfort in her scrunched nose. "I don't like being called that."

"As you wish, then," Fallon relented. "Go on now, before your mother scolds the both of us."

Arya did as she was told, back on the path down the tower stairwell and towards the courtyard where the family and those of higher station in the household would greet the incoming Glover family. She and Jon, with Theon and a handful of others would be expected to await them in the feast hall.

Fallon rose from her seat at the looking glass and did not bother a second look into it, afraid her plait would still look a mess. Jon only stepped out of the way, allowing her to leave the room in front of him as the descended the steps.

They walked in silence, neither knowing what to say. Fallon had spoken a handful of words between both of Ned's older sons, all lacking much substance other than the pleasantries that were expected of her. But the truth was, she wanted to speak with them. They were closest to her age and while they weren't her brothers, still could not deny her longing for more companionship. Jon, who had the temperament of scared dog around Lady Stark but enjoyed laughter in the presence of his siblings. And Robb, who had the likeness of his father in the way he spoke, the way he laughed and even the way he sparred. Robb Stark was not Ned's spitting image. No, he was far too auburn and his eyes much too blue, she'd noticed. But he strove for honor, for kindness and for duty, just as his father did.

Assuredly, there was much to be known about the two brothers who had been raised under Ned's warmth and goodness. But she could not yet see beyond the haze, the longingness for her Skagosi warriors, for her brothers. For Aedan.

She didn't want to think of Aedan then and so somehow the words left her mouth before she could censor them as she turned to Jon.

"Does it bother you that you do not stand beside your brother now?" she asked, the twist in her gut confirmed that it was neither her place nor was it a question one should ask of a young man like Jon Snow. He did not look at her but she could see the shift in his walk, the shame in his eyes as they fell to the ground with each step. She should have apologized. But couldn't muster the words when her curiosity longed to be quelled.

"Does it bother you that you have to sit next to a bastard when we feast?" he countered bitterly and she could tell the nerve was not so deep. She opted to tread carefully.

"In Skagos, we are not bothered by such things," she replied, shrugging. "My youngest brother is a bastard," she admitted and Jon's brow furrowed in curiosity though he did not meet her gaze as she watched him. "Or at least, everyone believes him to be. Including my father."

"You mean…" he paused, more sense than she had in choosing his words cautiously. "Your brother is not your father's son?"

"My mother gave my father many children, though I doubt any of us were born of love between the two of them," she shared though she felt a twinge at her heart as she did. "When Corran was born, his hair was fair and his eyes were too bright to belong to any Magnar. But no one said a word. Because he is our brother."

"And your father?"

"Calls him son," Fallon supplied. "Corran will inherit as all Magnar sons do. And when the time comes, he'll pass down the Magnar name to his sons."

Jon was far too shy to ask about her mother, about how her father had reacted when Moira had bore Drystan a son that was not his own. It was true her father called Corran son. Nothing would change his feelings towards his youngest boy. But it was also true that her mother and father barely tolerated one another. Drystan Magnar did not let love deter his duty to his people, and it turn, Moira found her pleasure elsewhere. So long as there was subtlety, Drystan did not much care. And so long as no one of Corran's true blood tried to claim him, the beast within would be subdued.

She did not press further as they arrived to the hall, candles lit and food prepared for their guests. Everyone stood, servants putting finishing touches on the tables while the hall bustled with discussion. She and Jon did not speak again as they waited, both watching Theon flirting shamelessly with one of the newer kitchen maids.

Enat entered the hall, holding her skirts as she walked at a quick pace and when her eyes met Fallon's both of them seemed to lose some of the tension in their shoulders. She walked over quickly, giving Fallon a cautious smile as she approached and Fallon reciprocated as best as she could manage. Enat's fingers went to the plait hanging over Fallon's shoulder and the both chuckled lightly.

"It _almost_ looks pretty," she whispered and Fallon swatted her hand away playfully.

"I am not as feeble-minded as you would believe me," she replied.

"You look lovely," Enat admitted. "Even without my help."

Fallon swallowed, her eyes dancing over her fingertips as she avoided Enat's eyes.

"I am sorry for my words earlier. It was hurtful of me."

"I forgive you," Enat rushed to say. "It was I who should not have pressed the matter. I know things are hard here." Fallon could only nod. "But I promise you, they will get better. We will make the best of our new home. You'll see."

Fallon could feel the stubbornness rise up in her stomach, the same ache to be home that drove her to hate this place. But somewhere, behind the anger and the fear that she would never see home again, she could feel the place where Enat's promise resonated. And in that feeling, she recognized a brief glimmer of hope.

A hope, that perhaps her friend was right. That one day, she might call Winterfell home as well.

* * *

A/N: Apologies to the reviewer who was in the middle of the original story! I had no idea anyone was still reading. Anyways, the rewrite is going to be much better so you're in for a treat that you get to read the new chapters and ending in place of the old one. Sorry about that! 


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: So all of this is brand new content for those of you who have read the original Savages...and for those of you who haven't...it's new for you too! I hope you all enjoy it. I have greatly appreciated all of the feedback on the last two chapters. I'm happy that this story is enjoyable and I hope it remains that way. Please continue to share your thoughts! They are always encouraging. xoLola**

 **Savages  
By LolaStark**

* * *

 **CHAPTER THREE**

 **NED**

There was a chill in the air, the winds moving from the North, beyond the Wall and down into the moors outside of Winterfell's walls. They crept over the stone fortress, bringing with it a quiet ice that sprinkled over the morning dew, turning what green there once was white with it's presence.

Ned sat upon his horse, watching as Hullen conducted riding lessons for his three youngest children, as well as Fallon. If Arya was allowed a sword, she would have considered it her favorite pastime to spar with her brothers. But as she was not, she had once told Ned that riding horses gave her immense pleasure.

It was that, amongst many other traits of his youngest daughter, which reminded him of his sister. He did not care to speak of Lyanna, or think of her too often as the thought of her death brought great pain to his heart. But from time to time, the joy in Arya's eyes, the laughter from her throat made him think, perhaps, the memories were not all bad.

Fallon Magnar did not need lessons, he noticed, watching her handling her mare expertly as though the two were one. Lyanna had once been such a horsewoman. And as Fallon and her horse danced in circles upon the muddy courtyard grounds, her fingertips gently tangled in her mare's mane, he thought for a moment he was in a dream. And Lyanna was there.

Hullen's shouting woke him from his reverie, and he again watched the master of horse instruct his children on how properly to handle their reigns. Fallon listened but Ned could see the distraction in her eyes as they trailed over the moors. He did not have to wonder what thoughts plagued her mind, what target that faraway look in her eyes was focused on.

He did not believe Fallon Magnar was fool enough to try and escape. She was a stubborn girl, yes, but she did not shows signs of disrespect towards any of the Stark household. Only indifference. She knew what being Ned's ward meant and that her presence would spare her brother the same fate. But from what he did know of her, he knew she thought of it and often. Leaving the walls of Winterfell to return to her island and her people.

Drystan Magnar had told him what Fallon was giving up by coming into Ned's household. He'd explained their traditions, traditions Ned had only heard stories of as a boy. The Nighean was a word he had read once, in a book of the Northern histories some years ago. But he did not understand its true meaning until he'd seen her for himself. The way she held her head, her eyes, the way her men stood at her side.

Only Cat knew that when Drystan first offered his daughter as hostage for his crimes, Ned had refused. He told the man he would take only one of his sons but it was the desperation in the man's eyes as he fell to his knees at Ned's feet and begged. Ned had never seen Drystan Magnar on his knees nor had he ever thought he'd see the man beg. But he'd done both and despite the apprehension in Ned's gut, he could not refuse him. And he'd accepted Fallon as his ward.

"Head up, milady," Hullen instructed to Arya as she too grew distracted.

Ned urged his horse forward, approaching Fallon whose eyes were now trained towards the Wolfswood. They sat side by side, their gaze in the same place as they looked ahead and neither spoke for several moments until she finally turned her eyes towards him.

"Shall we go in then?" he asked, nodding towards the forest and her brow furrowed in confusion.

"Lord?" she asked, hoping for clarification.

"Your time is wasted on lessons with Hullen," he replied. "It's clear you have no need of them."

"Perhaps," she agreed. "But Fiachra is used to the activity. I don't like to think of her caged up in the barn."

"Fair enough," he answered with a shrug. "Come, let us put both of them both to stretching their legs then," he insisted again and this time he did not wait for her as he clicked his heels gently against Brax's side.

The stallion, used to Ned's movements did not hesitate as he pushed forward. Only a few paces behind him he could hear Fiachra's hooves speed up in the icy slush of the muddy road. It was only a few moments before she was at his side, glancing upwards at the canopies of the thick wooded area.

"Who taught you to ride?" he asked curiously.

"My father put me on the back of a horse before I could walk. Our horse master Aelfric took over my lessons when my father gifted me my first mare on the occasion of my fifth name day," she answered quietly.

"The instruction was sound, it seems," Ned complimented. He saw a small wave of pink rise in her face replacing the wind-blown redness. "You ride quite well."

"Thank you, Lord," she answered politely, sighing with slight impatience.

"When the Glovers depart in a fortnight, I will leave Winterfell for Castle Cerwyn to attend a harvest feast. Robb, Jon and Theon will accompany me and I thought, you would like to as well?" She perked at his offer, despite her attempt at disinterest.

"Apologies, but would that be wise?" she asked him and her direct question caused him to raise his eyebrow in amusement.

"How do you mean?"

"I am Skagosi," she reminded him, as if he'd forgotten a crucial matter of her being.

"So you are," he nodded.

"I mean, Lord, that my presence would offend your bannerman, Lord Cerwyn, would it not?"

Ned watched her carefully, the bitterness of the words off her tongue were evident in her tone and in her glare forward as they moved. He reached over, pulling Fiachra's unused reins towards him and she jerked slightly forward at the abrupt stop. Her eyes widened slightly as she looked to him for an answer to his interference.

"I know the stories Northmen teach their children about Skagos, the things they whisper to the babes to make them fear the dark," he admitted. "But you are my ward and that fact alone puts you in a position that my bannermen are bound to, at the very least, respect. To find you offensive would mean to find offense with me."

She did not respond, only stared at him, contemplating his words and his offer and he could see that the idea of leaving Winterfell's walls for a trek across the moors was enticing.

"I, eh," he paused. "I must admit, I don't have much experience with girls. My own daughters' care is looked over by my wife. So, I don't know what it is that would make this transition any easier for you. Perhaps, if you spoke openly about how this has been for you."

Ned was never much for words when it came to women. He didn't know how to comfort them well, or how to understand their feelings. He and Cat sometimes found disagreements for reasons he could not find the source of and he had a feeling it had something to do with the mind of a woman which he seemed oblivious to.

"You wish me to speak plainly, Lord?" she questioned, her tone apprehensive. "Truely?"

"Yes," he assured. "I know so little about you, Fallon, and all I see in your eyes is sharpness and a desire to fly free. I cannot appease your wish to go home just yet but maybe I can do something to extinguish the fire in those eyes that burns with disdain for me?"

"Well then, Lord. If I may be so bold…" she began.

"Aye," he answered.

"Then I would ask you to tell me why you spared my father," she admitted, her tone heavy. Her eyes did not avoid him now. Now they, were unconcealed and met his with a ferocity he had yet to glimpse. "He betrayed the crown, did he not? He, being accused of plotting an uprising against the North, should have been punished by the end of your sword and yet he lives. Why bother sparing the life of a traitor?"

"I did not spare him, King Robert did," Ned attempted but she shook her head quickly, her anger rising.

"My eldest brother was at the Grey Cliffs where he was sentenced to death by the king's soldiers. King Robert hated my father, wanted him dead. But it was you who swayed him. Why?"

Ned had not anticipated her knowledge of the situation at hand. Drystan had indeed been accused of treason, of raising an army and plundering for the funds to take over the North, of attempting to reignite the old grudge between Magnar and Stark. But Ned had not been wholly convinced of it's legitimacy. Drystan was a rough man, a man who did not hide his feelings about the North and their historical oppression over the island he ruled. But he was not a traitor.

"I heard evidence given against your father at Karhold. As Warden in the North, the judgement was mine to pass, and though there was a persistent wish that your father find justice at the end of my sword, my judgement was to spare him."

"But why? If there was evidence…" she started and he could see her trying to blink back the glistening behind her lids.

"The evidence was not sufficient," he interrupted. "My judgement to ends a man's life cannot be based on hearsay. And while there was evidence enough to find him guilty of the charge of plundering, there was nothing to substantiate the claim that he was raising his army against me or any of the other Northern lords."

Her eyes searched his, darting back and forth as she absorbed his words and he thought perhaps she would have more to say. Instead, they sat in silence for many moments allowing both of their horses to move on. They rode like this until Ned found that they had gone far enough in the forest for the day, and would need to turn around if they hoped to arrive to dinner on time. Robbett would be awaiting his council and his hospitality was expected.

"You seem discontent with my answers?" he asked in confusion but she shook her head.

"It is just-" she paused. "I misjudged you, I think, Lord," she finally whispered, the light around them fading slightly. "I want to be angry, you understand?" she asked. He nodded. "I wanted to be angry with you because it was your seale on the letter that arrived at Kingshouse with my father's fate written into it. It was your words that stripped him of his titles, that put my family in such substantial debt that we may forever be under your mercy."

"I sense a contradiction in your words?" he inferred.

"But I have heard of your kindness and your honor. No one speaks the name Eddard Stark without some admiration, even on Skagos," she admitted and Ned found that he was now the curious one. "Skagos may have a dark history with the Stark family, but no one denies that you are a man to be trusted. They call you 'The Stark, _an onorach faol_ ' in the Old Tongue."

"Can I hope it is a good name?" he asked with a grin and she nodded.

"It means, 'the Honorable Wolf'. And I realize now that my father would not have sent me to your household if he did not believe that you were an honorable man."

"I swore to him that no harm would come to you so long as you are in my care," he expressed. "That until your father's debt is repaid, that you would be treated as if you were my own daughter. It is a promise I intend to keep."

There was no need for a response, he could see the realization in her eyes as she settled them on the path in front of them. Ned had thought her a stubborn girl upon first meeting her, but it was clear that stubbornness stemmed from bravery and strength. It was a trait he could admire.

It was nearly dark when they arrived at the edge of the castle near the Hunter's Gate. They both dismounted and took the time to care to their horses rather than rush to hand them off to the groom. They were silent as they did so, neither having any more words to spare and it was obvious that the Skagosi girl had no tolerance for what idle talk so he appeased her.

Ned was contemplative as he walked towards the hall, knowing Catelyn would scold him for his appearance. He parted ways with Fallon, who took a seat at the table nearest her companion, Enat. Jon too was nearby and as he caught his eyes Ned felt something pull at his heart, the afternoon pulling him deep into memories he'd much rather not dwell in. The sight of Jon only pulled at him harder. And so, with shame in his eyes, he looked away.

* * *

 **ROBB**

Conversation at the feast was flowing happily as wine goblets remained full. The hall was full of cheerful laughter and with the Glovers as company, there seemed little reason for distraction. And yet, Robb could not help but noticed his brother across the hall, his usually sullen expression replaced by one he could describe as almost jovial.

Fallon's companion, Enat, seemed the cause for such laughter and even Theon was pulled from his usual distraction of women to laugh at something she had said. Fallon's lips were just slightly upturned in the corners of her mouth and Robb felt something tugging slightly at his own as he noticed it.

She did not smile often, he observed, but when she did, it softened her features. She, like Jon, looked as though she was enjoying herself while Robb was stuck entertaining Gawen Glover and his sister, Erena's girlish stares.

"It is true, Ned?" Robett laughed, drunk with too much wine. "I've heard rumors of your new ward, Skagosi is she?"

Robb watched his father lower his glass from his mouth as he stared at Robett from across the table and nodded.

"Drystan's youngest daughter, Fallon," he answered and Robb could hear the tension in his voice. Robett nearly spit out his wine though it was his wife, Sybelle, who spoke.

"You mean she is a Magnar?" the woman said in awe, glancing over towards the table where Fallon was still trying desperately to look only slightly amused at Enat's story.

"Papa says the Skagosi are a savage horde," Erena spoke up and the tension was beginning to build from the other Starks at the table. Arya's lack of composure made it clear.

"They are not," Arya spat only to earn a stern look from their mother and a pinch from Sansa on the girl's left. "Ow? What!? It's not true. Fallon told me that the only savages are those who still practice the old ways, which are few."

"You mean men eating men?"

"Gawen!" Sybelle interrupted, aghast. Gawen hid his mischievous laughter behind his own wine goblet and ignored his mother's scolding.

"What good is the word of one Skagg?" Robett interjected with a chuckle. "We all know the stories and no one here can say the North isn't a better place now that we don't have Drystan Magnar to deal with." Robb glanced up at his father who watched Lord Glover with his brows furrowed, his fingers clenching his wine goblet in a way Robb only saw when his father was attempting to keep his composure. "Oh come on, Ned!" Robett chuckled heartily. "Don't tell me you didn't enjoy knocking that feral brute down a few pegs."

Robb glanced again to the table where Fallon and Enat sat and noticed that their eyes were no longer glowing cheerfully, but were turned towards the drunken lord who now scoffed at the former head of House Magnar. Fallon's hidden smile was now replaced with a deep frown.

"Come, surely there are more suitable topics to discuss in front of the children," Cat interrupted and Robb looked up at her, thankful for her interruption. Ned, too, seemed pleased with the transition and nodded.

"I've promised you a hunt, Robett. The Wolfswood is bountiful this time of year, as you know. We'll head north, pay a visit to the Greatjon for a few days as well. What say you?" he suggested and Robett, whose mouth was full as he chewed, nodded in excitement.

Conversation returned to its usual topics. Sansa and Erena cooed over talks of new fabrics that would arrive from King's Landing in a week's time, while Gawen rattled on about his new bow for the hunt. Robb was not eager to listen as the young man carried on in the same drunken haze as his father. Instead, he turned back to the table where he noticed one of its occupants missing.

He stood from the table, despite a glance from his mother and made his way over to where Jon sat finishing his supper. Enat, too, ate quietly, her pretty grin pulled down in a straight line as Robb approached. She gave him a cordial bow of her head as he stopped at her side and Jon too paused his movements as he lifted his goblet to his mouth.

"I apologize for the behavior of our guests, Enat," he offered, his voice low though no one at the head table would hear him over the loud hacking of Lord Glover whose high spirits would not be disrupted.

"It is nothing, Lord," she said in reply, allowing a smile upon her lips to reassure him. "We are used to the opinions of Northmen."

"And yet I know Fallon will have taken offense to them. I would like to apologize to her as well if you would tell me where she has gone," he explained and though she nodded he could see the reluctance in her eyes.

"She did not say, though it is likely she has made her way to the sparring court," she informed him and when he stepped to leave she placed her hand lightly on his arm. "I apologize for my boldness, Lord. But I would caution you. Fallon needs to clear her head. She will not welcome a visit. Her pride has been wounded and I fear she will only meet your attempts at kindness with reproach."

Robb did not move forward then, realizing the weight of her words as a warning to help spare him the likely outbursts derived from Fallon's frustration. Part of him wanted to ignore her warning, seek out the girl for himself and be damned her anger. But in the short time of Fallon Magnar being a ward of Winterfell, he knew that she was still a mystery to him and if anyone's judgement was to be trusted when it came to her, it would be Enat's.

So he nodded and returned to his place at the head table, ignoring the disapproving glares of his mother and the curiosity he saw in his father's. He pretended to listen to Gawen's prattling beside him, indulging the young man in half-hearted nods of the head. And eventually, time wore down the conversations and drunken guests stumbled down the corridors to find their beds and sleep.

Robb, however, lay awake for what seemed like hours when he finally made his way to bed. His mind drunk in his own curiosity as he replayed old stories from Old Nan about Skagos and wondered just how many of them were, as Arya had shouted at dinner, false.

* * *

 **ENAT**

"You keep staring at that gate like that and it may just fall in fear of the daggers you're glaring at it," Enat said to her friend whose sewing had been left unaltered for so many minutes she thought her friend had dozed off to sleep in her chair.

Fallon, however, only moved her glance sideways for a moment to show that she was not amused with Enat's jokes before returning to the embroidery in her lap and immediately cursing under her breath in the Old Tongue as she pricked her finger.

"I'm not glaring at anyone but you," she grumbled.

"We both know the reason you mood is so soured," Enat insisted and Fallon didn't respond. Enat looked back at where Sansa and Erena giggled in the middle of the room, far from where they were seated at the window and still she lowered her voice as a precaution. "The Glovers will be gone in a few days time," she reminded her friend.

"Not soon enough for my taste," Fallon retorted.

"He's far from the first to ever insult your father," said Enat and Fallon sighed, knowing she was right.

"Yes well, we deal with things quite differently back home, you may recall," Fallon reminded her and Enat tried to stifle a laugh.

Enat eyed the cloth in her friend's lap and watched as the girl went back to her sewing, her technique growing more practiced despite the grumblings that accompanied it. The fabric was green, deep like the forests of Skagos. Her thread was the color of fine silver. There was very little material like this in the North so Enat could not help but cringe each time she saw Fallon snag the thread even slightly.

A cloth merchant had made his way up from King's Landing and the silks he brought made Sansa and her companions squeal with excitement. Even Enat found pleasure in the fine fabric that was nowhere to be found on the island of Skagos and took advantage of every bit Lady Stark allowed her to sample.

Life in the North was different than home, but not as different as perhaps she had expected. Ladies in Skagos did not often sit around solars sewing. Enat's primary function and Kingshouse was being the Nighean's companion.

Enat and her family lived in the northernmost part of Skagos. Her uncle, Dearg Crowl, was lord of Deepdown fortress. But lords on Skagos were not like the lords of Westeros. Their castles were little more than small forts initially built to sustain their ancestors from the numerous clan uprisings that took place hundreds of years prior. Enat remembered thinking Kingshouse was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen until she'd come to the mainland.

She didn't know the word castle until Winterfell.

But Skagos was home. It was a more humble lifestyle, to be sure, but Enat yearned for it. Everything these northmen did seemed much more formal than the life she was used to. She knew what the people of Westeros thought of her homeland.

 _Skagosi aren't civilized. They live in caves and feast on men when the harvest runs scarce._ She'd heard most of the rumors, stories the people of the mainland told their children. But the more she heard, the more she realized there was a fine line between what they believed was real and what was suitable for bedtime stories.

She'd seen the men's eyes the day she arrived at Winterfell. They did not believe it possible that a Skagosi woman could look like Enat or Fallon. She'd seen their eyes follow her in awe, Enat's fire red hair and supple bosom causing them to linger on the Skagg woman in their midst.

But Enat was stoneborn. She would not lie with these brutish men no matter how silver their tongues were. There were so few that were kind and even fewer who expressed any fond words of her people unless the Stark was present. Still, she would endure it for Fallon. Because she knew Fallon would endure it for no man if Enat were not there to interfere.

"Do you think back home, Broden is preparing for the Gathering?" Enat whispered to Fallon. Her friend's only response was a shrug.

"What is the Gathering?" a voice said from behind her and Enat spun around to see young Arya Stark standing with interest, holding a piece of fabric in her hands of which there was no longer an hope.

"An annual tradition we stoneborn partake in at Kingshouse," Enat replied and Arya looked even more interested despite Enat's attempts to downplay it. She glanced at Fallon who seemed unwilling to offer support in the matter. She glanced around the room though the other women seemed enthralled in gossip and conversation. "The island of Skagos has many clans. Each clan represents a bloodline that dates back to the First Men and a claim to the rule of it's land. However, hundreds of years ago, the clans came together to form a truce in the face of the invaders to the East across the sea. They chose their strongest leaders to lead them into battle. These leaders were of Clan Stane, Clan Crowl, and Clan Magnar."

"The three lordships of Skagos," Arya filled in and Enat smiled.

"Yes, little one. But one clan was stronger than the others and when the battles were over, they pledged their allegiance to him and him alone. The Magnar. Of course the Magnar was a warrior, he did not want to be the leader of so many men…"

"King…" Fallon interrupted without looking up, hissing as she pricked her finger once again with her needle. Enat narrowed her eyes.

"What's that?"

"Back then, the Magnar was thought of as a King. He did not want to be _King_." Fallon added and Enat smiled.

"Yes of course. The Magnar did not want to be _King_ of the stoneborn, so he delegated some of his power to the other two clans, Stane and Crowl. Together they would rule the island and maintain the peace in their regions. The following year, the clans would meet at Kingshouse, the seat of the Magnar, for a celebration and a renewal of this pact. It's a tradition that stands today. All the clans of Skagos renew the peace pact and take bread together."

"Not all the clans," she heard from her left and Enat cleared her throat.

"Would you prefer to tell the story?" she asked, her voice sharp, and Fallon looked up in surprise. "You do know more about it than I do."

"Well," Fallon started, looking at Arya's awaiting expression and she set down her own sewing on her lap. "Not all the clans were happy with this arrangement. Not all stoneborn are content to live life under the laws that were set at the first Gathering. There are constant uprisings by clans who think they are strong enough to challenge the Magnar."

"Wouldn't they be outnumbered by the rest of the Skagosi?" Arya asked, a crinkle in her brow.

"No," Fallon admitted. "Each clan has the right to challenge the ruling clan for a seat of power. If, for example, the Black Mountain Clan's leader, the Siosalach, wanted to challenge the rule of the Magnar line, it is the responsibility of the Magnar clan alone to answer the challenge, and fight for their continued rule."

"But there must be uprisings all the time, then," Arya asked, sitting down in the unoccupied chair at Fallon's right and neither paid any attention to their forgotten fabrics in their laps.

"Not all the time, but the rebellious groups do enjoy stirring up a bit of trouble every now and again. That is why our people seem to always be in scuffle or two. We're restless I suppose."

"You're restless now," Enat added and a small crack of a smile appeared on the girl's lips in response.

"The Gathering will give each clan the opportunity not only to show his respect for the Magnar, my elder brother Broden, but they will also have the opportunity to discuss any grievances in their villages or with the current leadership itself. This will be my brother's first Gathering as the Magnar."

"Why do you call him that?"

"Call him, what?" Fallon asked.

"You call him, 'the Magnar' as if he's the only one?" asked Arya, her brow furrowed. "Aren't you all Magnars?"

Both Enat and Fallon chuckled lightly, gaining a look of momentary curiosity from the girls across the room.

"It is, just the way, I suppose," Enat answered as Fallon pretended to be consumed in the needlepoint. "It is the old way."

"Before we called them 'lords', our clan leaders were called 'chieftains'. Though we speak the Old Tongue of course," explained Fallon. "The chief of each clan was not called 'Lord' or 'Chief' but by their clan name. No one calls Broden by his given name. They call him 'Magnar' as a sign of respect as one might call your father 'My Lord' do you understand?"

"I think so," Arya admitted, looking lost in her own questions. "Does that mean my father would be called the Stark where you are from?"

"Indeed," said Fallon. "The Stark, is a titled reserved for your father. And, I suppose one day, your brother Robb or Jon."

"Not Jon," Arya replied. "Jon's a bastard."

"And?" Fallon said, now looking just as confused as Arya had earlier. A silence grew between the three of them as conversations bustled around them. Arya fiddled with her fingers a few moments before answering.

"My Lady Mother says we aren't supposed to talk about such things," Arya finally said. "But, Jon isn't my mother's son. So he does not have the same birthright as Robb. That's why he doesn't have the same name as us."

"I don't understand," began Fallon and Enat placed her hand on her friend's arm.

"It's not customary for bastards to claim a birthright in Westeros. Not all bastards are acknowledged, and even if they are, they usually are not legitimized above their own trueborn children," Enat attempted to explain but she could see the revelation had disturbed Fallon slightly as the girl rose from her seat and excused herself.

"Is Fallon a bastard?" Arya asked, her voice low and Enat shook her head. "Did I offend her?"

"No dear," Enat said, stroking the girl's hair. "Her youngest brother, Corran, is. It is different where we are from. At home, bastard sons and daughters have the same birthright."

Arya didn't seem entirely convinced she hadn't hurt Fallon's feelings but carried on pretending as if Enat's explanation satisfied her as she continued to butcher the silk in front of her. Enat did not bother to teach her because she knew the child's mind was somewhere else, likely on the sparring field where her younger brothers were currently clanging wooden swords together in merriment.

Enat could almost sympathize. Though she'd never been one to enjoy sparring, she certainly felt like an outsider amongst the women around her. But she had her father's patience and she wouldn't let their whispers and stares force her from the room.

* * *

 **FALLON**

Two months felt like a lifetime to her. She'd spent more time away from Kingshouse on trips to the North Shore in Skagos and yet being here at Winterfell made it seem as if time had come to a halt.

There, beneath the weirwood, she could imagine she was home, if only for a brief moment. Above her the leaves danced like fire against the orange evening sky. Night would come soon and Lady Stark would no doubt scold her for missing supper. But she couldn't stand one more night with the Glovers and their mindless prattle.

They'd be gone in the morning, she reminded herself. With them they'd take their sideways glances and cruel laughter. Their whispered insults of Drystan Magnar would no longer flood the corridors and she would be able to make it through an evening meal without one of their stares. Lord Stark had promised her courtesy from his bannermen but she knew it was a promise he could not keep, generous as it was. Men would always find a way to snicker about her homeland, out of earshot of the Stark. Her anger would stay buried in the depths of her chest, however.

She could make it one more day.

"Do you plan on spending the night out here?" a voice asked and she flinched slightly, looking around her to find the source of it.

Robb.

He was the eldest of the Stark children though his coloring favored his Tully mother. The boy who was far too free with his smiles.

"Perhaps," she said, sitting up from her place beneath the tree and resting her hands on her knees. Leaves fell from her disheveled hair. "I am used to such conditions. Back home we only slept in damp caves and windswept moors, you know."

Once again his lips pulled back at the corner of his mouth and he flashed his teeth.

"Bran told me a bit about your home," said Robb, and Fallon's eyebrow rose slightly. "He says Kingshouse is no cave."

His gaze was direct. His eyes, blue orbs locked on her and grinning as he glanced from her eyes to her hair and she absently brushed her hands through it. Several more leaves fell as she did so and she tried to hide her embarrassment with an indifferent shrug. He shifted slightly, his smile falling.

"You don't care much for me, do you?" he asked.

Her cough drowned out a chuckle in her throat. Boys, she thought. Always so concerned with the opinions and stares of women. Robb Stark was no different. She was not blind to his lingering eyes but her refusal to return them was what stirred such restlessness in him. He couldn't even stand still as he shifted from leg to leg, waiting for her to respond.

"I barely know you, Lord," she said, reverting to formality. Perhaps he was just a boy. But she knew what power boys in positions like Robb Stark had over girls like her. She was in no hurry to displease him. "And to be quite honest, I spend very little time thinking of anything but home."

She was surprised to see him flinch, a guilt-ridden expression falling over his fine features that reminded her of his father. Lord Stark nearly always looked at her that way but she did not want their pity. She would be content with indifference.

"I imagine you do," he said, nodding. "It does seem very different than Winterfell, I'm sure. Cave or no."

It was his attempt at a joke. It was almost funny. As a reward, she decided to indulge him.

"Kingshouse is small, much smaller than Winterfell. It's little more than a keep with two towers. It's small enough that I shared a bedroom with both of my sisters until they were married off," she told him and he glanced back over his shoulder where Winterfell towered over the trees. The Library Tower was in full view.

"When my mother told me she'd moved you to the Library Tower I thought it might be a bit small. But now Arya's going on about how she wants to switch rooms with you," he said.

"It is convenient," she admitted. "I enjoy having access to all the books Winterfell has to offer. We don't have nearly as many on Skagos."

"And here I thought you'd much rather be sparring with the boys," said Robb and the small smirk on his lips returned.

"I am told that a Lady does not spar."

"Well, don't tell my sister that," he said, his voice low though they were alone. "I think she rather enjoys your secret lessons."

This time she couldn't stop the corners of her lips from rising.

"Ah, she does smile," Robb announced. "I wasn't quite sure."

"Don't get attached to it, Lord," she said with a chuckle.

From the castle walls they both turned at the sound of a shout, a summons to supper which was already growing cold. Robb would no doubt receive one of Lady Stark's disapproving glares. Robb looked down to where she sat and reached out his hand. She stared at it for several moments before looking away, her smile fading on her lips.

"I don't have an appetite," she told him and his hand fell away slowly. "But I won't be out here much longer." He nodded despite his downturned mouth. "Please give Lady Stark my apologies."

When he turned to leave she reached up to her hair and pulled out several more leaves, letting them fall to the ground as she watched his retreating back. But he took a mere five steps before spinning around and she let her hands drop back into her lap.

"Fallon," he said and her name on his lips had a familiar sound that pulled from somewhere deep in her heart.

"Lord?" she asked, clearing her throat.

"I would like it, prefer it even, if you called me Robb," he asked her.

"I am not sure…"

"Just," he said, but his voice was not forceful and so any irritation she might have felt at his interruption was stayed by the gentle sound of his plea. "Just think on it."

When he turned back towards the castle he did not stop again and she was left there thinking of his request. She'd have to decline, she thought. Certainly it would not be appropriate for her to address the future Lord of Winterfell as anything other than the present formalities which she had been instructed upon her arrival.

But for some reason, as she sat there in the light of the setting sun, she whispered the name off her lips just once. And she didn't mind the sound. 


End file.
